The Three Viles
by aspentree11
Summary: She was dead. He was alive. And there was one last part of their mission they had to complete. Draco is set back in his fourth year, when Hogwarts was still in chaos and him and Hermione still were in their differences, so that he could finish the mission he was set there for. He had three chances or else everything will be wrong. Dramione.


Red painted the atrium of the Ministry. Her blood, everywhere. His hands shook as he lightly dipped his fingers into the nearest blood puddle, her body only a few feet away from it. His eyes rose up coolly toward the minister – An old friend.

"Why…" his voice shook violently. "Hermione. She didn't do anything." Anger had spread into him – Polluting his veins with vile thoughts and old, ancient devils that he hadn't felt in years. He should've been at her side, tending to her body, but he knew she was already dead, and soon her husband would be here, along with her children and Potter. He had enough time though to kill _him. _Yes, yes. It could be said to be defense. Slowly, he dug his wand out of one of the piles of blood, unsure when the sadness would rise and the question of rationalizing in the back of his head, but he regarded the idea.

He rose from his knees unsteadily, his eyes on the old man. _Old, _he laughed inside his head bitterly, it seemed as if it was only the old ones that were the strongest. Federmin, Dumbledore. They both were geniuses. They both got in his way, no matter what the greater good was.

Federmin shadowed in front of him calmly, his fingers clasped in front of his waist. He looked at Draco as if he was still above him – As if he was still Draco's mentor. But no, not anymore. Draco made his own choices.

Slowly, Draco raised his wand, his fingers shaking against the wood so harshly that he could barely take hold. The old man glanced at wryly, than looked back at him with a glisten of impatience. The spell was at Draco's lips, but yet the wand remained in the air immobile. Federmin's eyes rose.

"Please, do it. Kill me. If it was my love, I would kill me too," the man said softly. Draco's eyes couldn't help but shoot back at Hermione. _Love? _He had told himself from the last few months of working together as partnered aurors that it was just a friendship that only felt unusual because of their past, but now as he stared at her, at her wavy brown hair, and her still flawless skin, looking ageless at the golden age of thirty-two, he realized that he miscalculated. He did love her. And, he thought to himself, she loved him.

His eyes lingered on her, tears blurring into his cloudy eyes, but then his entire body snapped toward the minister again and he found himself pointing his wand to the ground. He did not want death, he realized weakly, he wanted answers. He wanted _why?_

"What do you want from me?" Draco croaked unevenly. The Minister's eyes mellowed, the tenseness that had been secretly foiling in his irises vanishing.

"You paired us together. You put us on a secret mission, knowing our differences. You knew that we were meant to be together – That we were destined together." As his voice choked, he said a glimmer in the minister's eyes.

"Draco Malfoy, I sent you on a mission-"

"And I succeeded!" Draco interrupted sharply. "We succeeded. That's why we came here. To tell you we succeeded." But the man simply shook his head.

"You only did part one of this mystery," the man confessed calmly. His fingers slacked open, his wand falling again upon a puddle of blood. His mouth fell, his whole body shaking. He couldn't move – He couldn't breathe. _Part one? What in the bloody Merlin was part two?_

"You and Granger – As I had told you before, when you begged to change partners – were meant to be together. And you were," The minister closed his eyes suddenly, as if the memory pained him. He then looked upon Hermione with a terrible sadness filling his eyes. That was what stopped Draco. That was what stopped Draco from killing him. He saw something different – Something that he had never seen in you-know-who, or Bellatrix, or anybody of that sort. The only person that reminded him of that sadness was the poor Severus Snape, and even he, in the end, was a hero.

"There is a prophecy, Draco Malfoy. You found the object, you found it, but you must go back. Go back in time," The man forced. Draco's teeth grinded against eachother angrily.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have to change the past. You need to make things different," The man informed. Draco shook his head sharply.

"You're asking me to mess with fate? No! Fate cannot be changed!" Draco's voice raised, "Trust me. I'd know."

"And who says what happened was a part of fate? Who says going back in time isn't a part of fate?" The man asked back. Draco's eyebrows furrowed, his pupils falling back on Hermione. It sounded like something she would say. This time, he was silent.

"I need you to go back in time, I need you to change your past, Draco." Draco stepped toward him dangerously.

"You aren't making sense Federmin," he hissed coolly. His eyes twitched toward the entrance of the atrium. They were coming soon…He could sense them.

"Take this," The man took something out of his bellowing robes. He tucked it into Draco's trembling hand.

"What is this?" Draco sneered, uncapping his fingers to reveal three mini vials, all stuck together as if a part of the same batch. The liquid inside was a gorgeous green – A slytherin green. It matched him perfectly, but yet it felt powerful. Too dangerous.

"It gives you three tries," The man said, "Three tries to start things over." Draco's eyes widened.

"Where are you sending me?" Draco demanded, "What are you doing?" The man took off a necklace that dangled across his neck. It was a yellow gold, with a blue ball of ruby.

"Change it," He whispered.

"Wait, wait, wait! What am I supposed to be doing? What am I supposed to-" But then the necklace was layered ontop of him, and with a click the atrium around seemed to swirl. The grey walls, the marble tiles, the beautiful scenery, seemed to all blur into one color. His feet buckled beneath him, and suddenly he was spinning. A thousand colors spun in front of him, making a nauseous feeling erupt in his stomach. His eyes slammed shut as the furious wind blew, and he tried to cling onto the only thing near him, but it felt as if he was in a tornado. Would he die? Just like Hermione?

The it all stopped. Just like that. A thousand senses to nothing.

He opened his eyes slowly, and when he did he gasped. Noise dangled around him, between laughs and rants. He evaluated the scenery, the people, the smells. He couldn't believe it – It had to be a fake. It had be a lie. It must be a delusion!  
But he knew this, this horror, could never be a delusion, nor a dream, or a fake. He was here.

"It's fourth year," he whispered to himself feebly as he awed in wonder at the Great Hall, "I need to find Hermione."


End file.
